14
Lesser known Dubs
Paul Hiffernan
Writer Paul Hiffernan was born in Dublin in 1719, received the first part of his education in the city, before being packed off to a college in the south of France from where, it was planned, he would emerge a Roman Catholic priest. Instead he took a degree in medicine before returning to Dublin after 17 years. He had, however, no interest being a doctor, being "possessed of an unconquerable love of indolence and dissipation." Instead he took to writing, in particular for 'The Tickler', a Dublin political paper. Those he praised looked after him, and those he denounced were powerless against him for a time. But times change and Hiffernan was forced to move to London, the alternatives being injury or burial. There he made a hand-to-mouth living by writing pamphlets, doing a bit of translating, and even though the term was unknown then, a bit of Public Relations for upcoming painters and actors. He enjoyed temporary success with his book "Dramatic Genius," and then promptly ruined his chanced of further literary success with "The Philosophic Whim," - described by one critic as "the man must be mad or drunk who wrote it." He had several eccentricities, one being that he never revealed his lodgings (in fairness, he appears to have been homeless some of the time and spent his nights in The Bedford coffee-house or some other all-night establishment. He died in London in June 1777. He had many friends and just as many enemies - his main crime in the eyes of those who loathed him was that he rather enjoyed wasting his time.
All About Dublin (2) Silver from the Devil? In a memoir of the late Dr. Adam Clarke, published in 1833, by "A member of his Family," there is a very curious transaction recorded respecting alchemy. Dr. Clarke was distinguished both for learning - he was a keen scientist and experimenter - and piety. He was an influential member of the body of Christians denominated Wesleyan Methodists. During his engagement in his ministerial duties at Dublin, he became acquainted with a gentleman named Hand who had been for many years engaged in the study of Alchemy; trying every experiment, which the various books he could obtain on the subject, and his own active imagination, suggested. Mr. Hand now sought an introduction to Mr. Clarke, and the result was, that an intimacy was established, which soon ripened into friendship; and as the alchemist possessed a good laboratory, he and Mr. Clarke were frequently engaged in making experiments
The Informer Edited by Zoz
First hand History together. After Mr. Clarke had left Dublin, Mr. Hand continued to correspond with him. Among those letters is one dated Dublin, Dec. 2, 1792. He says,: On the 2nd of November last, came to my house two men; one I thought to be a priest, and yet believe so; the other a plain, sedate-looking man. As soon as I went to them, the last-mentioned person said he had called to see some of my stained glass. After much conversation, he began to speak of metals, and their properties, and of Alchemy, asking me if I had ever read any books of that kind (but I believe he well knew that I had). After some time, and many compliments passing on my ingenious art, they went away. At noon the following day, he came back alone, and told me he had a little matter that would stain glass the very colour I wanted, and which I could never get, that is, a deep bloodred. Entering my laboratory he said: "Sir, do not deceive me, you are an alchemist." "Why do you think so?" said I. "Because," he replied,
"you have as many foolish vessels as I have seen with many others engaged in that study." "I have," I answered, "worked a long time at it, it is true, without gain, and I should be glad to be better instructed." " Do you believe the art?" said he. "Yes, sir." He smiled. "Will you have this air-furnace lighted?" "Yes, sir." I did so, and he then asked for a bit of glass, opened a box, and turning aside, laid a little red powder on the glass with a penknife. He then put the glass with the powder on it into the fire, and when hot, took it out, and the glass was like blood. "Have you scales?" said he. I got them for him, and some lead, of which he weighed two ounces. He then put four grains of a very white powder in a bit of wax, and when the lead was
melted, put this into it, and then raised the fire for a little while, then took it out, and cast it into water: never was finer silver in the world! "Shall I show you something wonderful?" he inquired. Taking a glass of clean water, he pulled out a bottle, and dropped a red liquid into it, and said something I did not understand. The water was all a blaze of fire, and a multitude of little live things like lizards, moving about in it. "Now, sir," said he, "if you will enter into a vow with me, as I see you are an ingenious man, I will let you know more than you will ever find out on your own. This I declined, being fully convinced it was the work of the devil. After some little time, he said he must go, and would call again, when I should think better of his offer. He left me the two ounces of hina (the alchemical name for silver), and I have never since seen nor heard from him. (An adapted extract from "An account of the infancy, religious, and literary life of Adam Clarke," edited by the Rev. J. B. B. Clarke M.A. Published by B. Waugh and T. Mason, New York. 1833)